Not really.
I am something else—something raw and jagged and hungry.
I fix my eyes on the knives, the way the moonlight beads and runs along the steel. I wonder which one will be mine.
I wonder whose blood I’ll get to see first.
Staring at the men strapped to their posts, I burst into a giggle. I want to memorize everything about them—the way their chests rise and fall, the way the sacks clench tighter every time someone gets close, the way they look so stupid covered in mud and blood and piss and shit.
Fuck sympathy, these aren’t men, they’re monsters who didn’t expect to have an expiry date.
I’m studying each one, not out of mercy, but because I want to know who will break first. Who will piss themselves again. Who will scream and beg and make it all worth it.
Julian releases his grip on me, steps to the boulder, and picks up one of the knives. He handles it with the care of a jeweler weighing a diamond, turning it over in his palm. When he looks back at me, his face is calm, his eyes flat and endless.
He is a beautiful devil, a man made of marble and death. One who wants to avenge me and all those who came before me and all I can do is forget how to breathe as he watches me through the eyes of a monster.
My monster.
Eve catches my gaze from across the circle. She raises her chin, then nods.
She walks over, boots cutting a trench, and plants herself beside me. Her dress is shorter, showing her legs, caked in mud. "You don’t have to do this," she says, eyes dark, voice flat. "Nobody here’s gonna judge you if you watch."
She says it so matter-of-fact that I almost laugh. I want to tell her that I’m not afraid of the violence. I’m afraid of how much I want to see it.
Dahlia swings past, twirling her knives with a dancer’s grace. "I already called dibs on Steele," she announces, her voice like glass on glass. "He’s the one who replaced Abelard and since I can’tget revenge on that fuck, this one will do. I want to see if he’ll beg."
She stops in front of her post, spins the knife, and rakes the tip down the man’s arm, a thin line of blood wells up. Even through the sack, the scream comes out shrill and desperate. Dahlia’s eyes go wide, lips curling into a savage grin.
Isolde shifts on her log, pulling the dress over her knees. "Rhett wanted me to stay home," she says, voice low, "but I need to see this. These men killed my sister. They killed a lot of people’s sisters."
She looks up at me, her face soft but unyielding. "It’s not about revenge," she says. "It’s about making sure they never do it again."
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
In the center, the Feral Boys circle, picking their knives as they say a few words to each other before bowing their heads. The moment passes and they grin.
Colton heads to his father’s post, blade at the ready. Bam bounces on the balls of his feet, every muscle straining for action as he goes to stand next to Colt. Rhett goes back to stand behind Isolde, arms folded, his attention locked on the Board but every few seconds his eyes dart to Isolde, to her belly, back to the posts. He looks like a man watching over a kingdom made of glass.
Julian sets the knife down and comes to me. His hand cups the back of my neck, the way he does when he wants me to pay attention.
"It’s not too late," he says.
I shake my head. "I want to see. I… I want my father."
A flicker of approval crosses his face. "Good girl. Watch us first, then you girls will get your chance."
Eve stalks forward, grabbing a thin skinning knife. "I’m taking Ellis.”
Colton looks over at her, then at the man tied to the post closest to the boulder. "I’ll take your dad, then," he says as he moves away from the man in front of him, voice so flat it’s almost bored. "You deserve to have a go, baby."
A thrill of something sharp and forbidden twists through me.
I look at the Board, at the men who once looked down at me from behind desks, who judged my worth by numbers on a page and how wide my hips would go.
Now, they’re the ones on display.
I take a step forward, the mud sucking at my shoes. My hands are steady, my breathing slow. I don’t feel scared. I feel inevitable.
